


Truth Within the Lies

by guineamania



Series: Nemesis [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Brief Description of Torture, Con Artists, Imprisonment, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6437605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineamania/pseuds/guineamania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya is sent undercover in New York to smoke out a smuggling ring that is expecting a big shipment very soon. However as he tries to blend in as a normal American guy he meets Napoleon, a charming handsome barista at Waverly's favourite coffee place. As they grow closer Illya feels guilt, for possibly the first time in his life, about lying to his possible boyfriend.</p><p>But even this relatively normal aspect of his life doesn't stay that way for long as Illya is forced to compromise his ideals and has to evaluate all that he thought he knew about his relationship with Napoleon. Their paths crossed at work and in their social lives but neither knew the other’s intentions with Victoria Vinciguerra.</p><p>Illya has to find a way to keep his cover, take down Victoria, keep Gaby’s cover and save Napoleon’s life. All in a day’s work for UNCLE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth Within the Lies

**Author's Note:**

> For the Small Fandom Big Bang
> 
> Here is the wonderful art by Stormbrite: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6430243

Illya Kuryakin was not cut out for New York life. He was a Russian farmer's son not some big city high roller. So when he had to go undercover as a Russian architect in the Big Apple, he did not know what to do with himself. It all started with his employer wanting to meet in a little coffee shop that Illya would never have noticed before. He was never one for eating out or getting coffee in these places but Waverly wanted to meet in somewhere inconspicuous for his report and Illya had to follow on. UNCLE had split up for this. Illya had to work as an architect in a large firm to try and draw out a smuggling ring. They knew that the head of the firm was smuggling diamond but they couldn’t work out how they were fencing them when they arrived into the country. So Waverly had the idea that Illya would be able to work his way up through the business and get in on the deal as he was a foreign national and had excuses to be travelling abroad. It was a solid plan but Illya still hated it, he wasn’t cut out to pandering to cowardly children. He would rather break their fingers to get the information he needed. Gaby was in South America trying to follow the diamonds into the US and Waverly was going to be flying over in a couple of days to help her out; she needed back up far more than Illya’s nine to five routine did; it was depressing.

 

The first time Waverly had asked to meet here, Illya had been starstruck by the attractive barista and he had his wallet stolen on the way. It was shameful that he hadn’t noticed the pick pocket but at least his fake employment had insurance and so he got all his money back but it still took him down a peg. Thankfully it was that same barista again that was taking his order. “Let’s hope you’ve got the money to pay this time,” the barista chuckled as he delivered Illya and Waverly’s orders, causing Illya’s frown to deepen but Waverly continued to smile.

“Lighten up Kuryakin, it’s called flirting normal people do that,” Waverly rolled his eyes before they got down to business.

“The men in my division have invited me to their poker night, I think it may be a trial or initiation,” Illya explained quickly diverting attention away from his lack of a love life, and Waverly seemed impressed by the development.

“Take any resources you need and buy yourself a new suit while you’re at it,” Waverly replied. “Gaby is in deep. She thinks that she may be in with one of your colleagues and he has invited her to come on a trip to the states with him,” Waverly explained and Illya nodded, they were finally getting somewhere in this endeavour. The barista pushed past their table again stumbling against Illya and apologising profusely. “I am so sorry, clumsy today,” he apologised, straightening out a flustered Illya’s jacket. He certainly had not expected to have the tall and muscular man practically draped over his lap and it was an entirely welcome surprise. Illya and Waverly took that cue to wrap up their meeting and leave. Illya walked slowly back to his office thinking once again about the barista. He didn’t even get his name but Illya was infatuated, he had never felt this way before.

 

Illya had bought himself that new suit but only to blend in. He was beginning to settle into this life but he still missed being on the road with Gaby by his side and the fearsome duo blazing their way through Europe. That was where he should be, not sat in an office just waiting. There seemed to be nothing too suspicious about his colleagues and if it wasn’t for the eyewitness reports then Illya would think they were barking up the wrong tree; there had to be something behind these playboy idiots for them to have evaded arrest and baffled the CIA. “Nice suit,” the barista smiled as he made Illya’s drink. It pained Illya that he was now a regular in this place; he tried to tell himself that it was because the coffee was good but he knew that was a blatant lie. It was because of the man in front of him. Despite what Waverly said it was likely the man wasn’t even playing for the same team, it was probably just good customer service.

“Thank you,” Illya mumbled back, trying not to engage. There was no time for distractions, he had work to be doing.

“Napoleon!” a man from the back shouted, and the barista shrugged in a ‘what can you do?’ manner before passing Illya his coffee and following the man into the back. Illya sat and waited for a little while but some other woman had replaced Napoleon at the counter. Napoleon, certainly a strange name but it seemed to fit. Napoleon.

 

Illya returned to the coffee shop the next day and his heart sunk at seeing the woman from the day before at the counter. It was common sense that Napoleon wouldn’t work all the time; but rational thought didn’t dampen his disappointment. “Morning Mr Kuryakin,” the girl smiled, already preparing his usual order. “Napoleon’s not in today. He’s had a family emergency,” she explained.

“Oh okay, tell him I hope it is resolved soon,” Illya nodded, taking his coffee and sitting down in his usual booth. Everyone at the office was tense and no one wanted to tell the architect why. All he had heard was that it was something to do with pressure from above to deliver. He was only just holding up his cover and he didn’t need to be watched by the management as well. The bell above the door chimed and two policemen wandered in and walked straight to the counter. “Morning ma’am, we’re looking for a man called Napoleon Solo,” one of them asked, sliding a picture over the desk.

“He works here but he is off today on a family emergency,” the girl responded, her face twisting into a frown. “Is he in trouble?”

“No we just need to talk to him. If he comes in would you mind giving me a call,” the other policeman asked and the barista nodded. Napoleon was in trouble and Illya had no idea what he could do to help his crush.

 

Three days later, Illya walked in to find Napoleon stood behind the counter like nothing was wrong. The barista had dropped off the map over the past few days and Illya had been worried about him. He knew full well that sometimes perfectly innocent people could get dragged into situations way beyond their control. That was what had happened to Gaby. She had been dragged into the spy business just because her father served his country in the war. “Oh it was nothing, one of my old friends was in trouble. It’s been sorted now,” Napoleon explained when Illya asked about the police visit.

“Good, I would hate for something to happen to you,” Illya blurted out without really thinking bringing a smirk to Napoleon’s face.

“Here,” the barista smiled, passing Illya a piece of paper. His mobile number was scribbled on it. A blush spread unbidden up Illya’s neck. Was Napoleon asking him out? We he actually going to date like Waverly joked? Illya had never dated before: he was a disgrace in Russia and he spent all of his time in the FSB trying to redeem his family. Homosexuality would only bring more shame and the loss of everything he lived for. But in America he had that chance. However he couldn’t let it distract him from his mission; this smuggling ring had to be taken down now or they would disappear into the wind again.

 

Illya was sat at home trying to play chess against himself; but his heart was in turmoil. His work was everything to him. Gaby was relying on his absolute devotion to this case. On the other hand if he didn’t meet with Napoleon now then it would never happened. Illya knew that once this case was over they would be shipped out to the next crisis. He couldn’t miss his chance. Illya had never been this unsure of himself ever before in his life. He was usually a man with a plan and nothing distracted him from that. Love was not part of the plan.

 

Couples sat all around him and watching their loving exchanges made Illya more and more nervous. Illya frowned softly, he was a spy. A spy did not show nerves or fear let alone at such trivial things. “Hey, hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Napoleon smiled as he slid into the seat across from Illya; not many people could sneak up on the Russian spy, Illya had to count it down to his distracted state of mind. Only people professionally trained had ever managed it.

“No, I arrived early,” Illya nodded, passing his date a menu. Of course Illya had scoped out the whole restaurant beforehand, and had booked the table far away from the windows, near the fire escape and with clear line of sight to the door.  They ordered their starters and a bottle of wine Napoleon had raved about and the barista was currently chatting about some of the more memorable customers he had experienced. Illya was stunned silent. Napoleon was just so charismatic without it coming off as childish. He carried himself like he ruled the world but yet he looked like he cared about you. Illya had no idea how he had managed to earn a man like that.

“So tell me about where you work,” Napoleon smiled, nodding to the waiter when he poured the wine. Illya hated lying to someone like this; he was fine lying as part of his job but this was not the same. He didn’t want to ruin it but once again, the mission had to be the priority.

“I’m a private investigator with my friend Gaby. We are currently hired by the government to investigate a company,” Illya explained. It wasn’t lying and it was better than the architect story; Waverly always wanted to send him undercover as an architect; you would think that he would know more about architecture by now. However Illya was known as Illya here. The two people he was had to stay separate.

“That’s cool so much better than what I do,” Napoleon nodded.

 

The meal progressed fabulously and Illya even found a smile had appeared on his face when the dessert arrived. He was opening up and he didn’t want it to stop. He didn’t want to be closed up anymore. Over the next couple of weeks they carried on meeting up and going on dates. But the poker game loomed, once he had got in with the boss it wouldn’t be long before they were reassigned. The guys seemed to have caught on that Illya was dating and fortunately his affections served to improve his cover.

 

Illya stood out in the street, scoping out the building where the poker night was occurring. Waverly had called to tell him it was an illegal underground casino and only those invited would be allowed in the doors. He had managed to get a look in during the day and he could see metal detectors and transmission detectors. He would be coming in with no back up and no way of getting a message out if anything went wrong. But Illya didn’t do this job to be safe; he was aware of the risks when he signed up for UNCLE. No government would be there to give him back up and fix any problems; so there had to be no problems. Illya was good at no problems but he still liked to be as prepared as possible so as well as no problems there was no surprises. Five minutes before he had been told to arrive, Illya knocked on the steel door. The owner had picked a good location, it wasn’t in the roughest area so there was no chance of police accidentally finding it but there was still no one wandering past that could see or hear something they were not supposed to. “Name and reference,” a gruff voice demanded through a speaker at the side of the door. Illya pressed down the button, “Alexei Vazov, referred by Mark Royal,” Illya reeled off without hesitation. He had been Alexei for so long now he was struggling to always respond to his real name with Waverly used it. The door clicked open and Illya stepped inside calmly. He was right; there was a heavy security which involved leaving his phone, switched off with the battery out, in the doorway before going through two scanners and a retinal scan. It was time like this he marvelled at Waverly’s thoroughness, Alexei had a whole past with a few parking tickets and photos all the way through his past. He was eventually let into the sprawling hall. It was impressive how a business this size had grown under the radar; but shutting this down wasn’t his mission. His mission was to stop the smuggling ring, everything else had to be an afterthought.

 

“Alex!” Mark shouted from across the room, drawing Illya’s mind back to the mission. Illya clenched his fist to try and relieve some of the annoyance that came with the obnoxious American slandering his alias; his name was Alexei not Alex.

“Mark, good to see you,” Illya smiled, hoping it didn’t look as fake as he felt it was. He couldn’t stand that man in the slightest.

“You too buddy, the game is about to start,” Mark continued to grin as he threw the entry fee on the table without a care. It would be so easy to rob this place is someone was that way inclined. Illya really wanted to, only to put these posh children in their places. Illya passed the required money over and stepped into the dark, smoke filled private room. Most of the men there Illya recognised from his employment but there were a few more faces that he tried to commit to memory so that he could investigate more. But the leader of the group was yet to arrive. Illya was shocked that this smuggling ring were exposing their leader to new recruits so readily but it worked in his favour. “There she is, the boss,” Mark hissed as the door opened. Illya’s eyebrows shot up; a woman? Now he wasn’t sexist but the people who worked in these rings were and so it would take a lot for a woman to rise to the top of this hierarchy. “She’s called Victoria and she always comes to these things with a piece of arm candy,” Mark sighed as the impeccably dressed blonde walked in with a tall brown haired man on her arm. Illya’s heart skipped a beat. It was Napoleon.

 

His Napoleon was dressed up in a navy blue suit that hugged his figure in all the right ways as he walked in with the Queen of Crime. A flirtatious smile was painted on his face as he pulled out the chair for their leader. “I wish I could be him,” Mark sighed as Victoria pecked his cheek and started the game. Victoria was stunning with here clearly designer clothes and slender figure but Illya couldn’t drag his eyes away from Napoleon, who never seemed to look in Illya’s direction. They had been getting so close in the past month and Illya knew that he had been lying to Napoleon. He just hadn’t suspected that Napoleon had been as well. But what was he thinking, he was a spy; there was no way that he could ever have something that wasn’t twisted by his career. However if he let his mind focus back on his mission again, this may be a blessing. They may now have a way to get to Victoria; if he could convince Napoleon to turn on his girlfriend then they had a sure fire way to the top. Illya tried to school his face to indifference despite knowing that his cover could be blown any moment. Napoleon glanced over and Illya could see shock flit over his face before the calm and suave mask was in place. It was clear that it was slotting into place in Napoleon’s mind; the case Illya had been talking about was this one. He didn’t look scared though, the con artist just carried on as if nothing was wrong. Maybe he was waiting to expose Illya to Victoria in secret. Or he was actually going to keep the secret.

 

The poker seemed to go well; Illya won enough to make himself seem competent but didn’t win too much off the hosts. Napoleon was playing the diligent companion, offering help on hands and his poker face was superb. Illya couldn’t help looking at him and he was sure that soon he would draw Victoria’s attention with his ogling. He thought Napoleon was his boyfriend; but he was just another mark, another person the American was conning. Illya informed Waverly as soon as he was far away from the game and was sure he wasn’t being tailed, also giving Victoria’s henchman time to bug his apartment. He knew how organisations like this worked, they would want to feel like they knew his whole life before they let him in. So he would let them. It did mean that he wouldn’t be able to go back to the café or meet up with Napoleon. Illya hung up with Waverly and hid his pay as you go phone in a railway locker. He changed Napoleon’s contact on his work phone to Jude, it was tempting to leave it as Judas but that would be far too suspicious. He need to be the model worker and there was no way his fraternising with the boss’ boy toy would gain him any favour. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to delete the number, the rational side of his mind was trying to convince him it was because he could be turned. But his heart knew otherwise. Underneath all this armour that had been forced on him, Illya lusted for companionship; Gaby used to be there for him but she was oversees and Napoleon had temporarily filled that hole, and so much more.

 

He was right, the whole of his apartment was bugged and there was often someone tailing him wherever he went after work. He hadn’t seen Napoleon in weeks when he was invited to dinner with Mark and Victoria, and no doubt Napoleon. This was it; Gaby had sent a message that it seemed like something big was about to go down. It was likely that they were trying to recruit and find out who they could trust. Illya had to make the cut or it would all fall down. They were accumulating evidence in South America side but Gaby had not been able to pin down anyone that knew anything about the American side. “Alexei!” Mark called out as soon as Illya stepped out of the taxi in front of the stylish hotel. He had never been able to afford a place like this before UNCLE, intergovernmental schemes sure did pay well. “Victoria and Napoleon are waiting in the restaurant,” Mark explained, practically dragging a hesitant Illya into the building. “Now this is the big test, Victoria seems to like you and wants to bring you in. Something is about to go down and she is recruiting,” Mark explained, he was so lucky to make ‘friends’ with the most talkative member of Victoria’s organisation. Illya straightened out his new suit jacket as they waited in the lift. Victoria had arrived early, it was a common power play; leaders over tried to hurry people, to make them feel as if they are late even though they were in fact early. This woman clearly knew how to play a crowd. These fools were likely to fall for it too; Illya wouldn’t, Illya was not going to let Victoria play him. He remained calm and his face schooled into indifference as he stepped out of the opulent lift. Mark was forced to fall in behind Illya’s powerful figure, the other man willingly let Illya take dominance over the situation. If there was one thing Illya knew how to do it was intimidate. As Illya arrived Victoria spotted the two of them and with a single glance to Illya ran her hand down Napoleon’s leg and softly kissed him on the cheek. Illya’s hand formed a clenched fist, nails almost drawing blood as he tried to focus and calm the boiling anger. Even after their separation and betrayal, Illya was still possessive over the American barista.

 

“So Mr Vazov, I suppose you have heard about what my organisation does,” Victoria stired up conversation as the wine was being poured.

“I had heard and believe it would be a profitable endeavour,” Illya stated, he knew how these tests went and he had ideas as to what Victoria would be looking for. She would want someone trustworthy and could show that they would have something to contribute that she may not already have. Illya had something like that, his cold demeanour and honestly terrifying stature were things that not everyone could bring. He may not be that good at being a courier but every criminal organisation needed muscle.

“What do you think you could bring to me? I have a lot of employees, why do I need you?” Victoria asked as the starters arrived, temporarily pausing the interview.

“I am ex-military. I can follow orders and have experience dealing with, unique situations,” Illya explained, picking it the strange fancy food this place served.

“Mark has been telling me about your assets, he seems determined that you would be a good fit,” Victoria sighed as if she was seriously considering his recruitment. “I do have to say I have heard whispers of what you have done, and I am impressed. But you will have to allow me time to make up my mind,” Victoria stated, the hidden message being that she wanted more time to check up on him.

“Of course ma’am but I would like to hear from the source, what it is actually is that your company does,” Illya pushed, hoping it wouldn’t be pushing too far. He was usually good at judging people but the anger coursing through him, because of Napoleon, was clouding his judgement. He just wanted this mission to be over and the stunning American to be out of his life.

“I suppose you should. I can just have my boys kill you if I decide not to hire you,” Victoria shrugged and Illya only just caught a grimace pass over Napoleon’s features. “I run a valuable gem smuggling business with my reach extending across the world. I currently have a major shipment waiting in South America,” Victoria explained and for the rest of the meal talk of work was banned. Victoria wanted to know all about Illya’s architect profession. “Isn’t it great hun,” Victoria chuckled to an abnormally quiet Napoleon. “See my Napoleon is an artist. He just loves pretty things,” Victoria beamed, she really cared about the snake in their midst.

“Of course sweetheart, that’s why I am with you isn’t it,” Napoleon flirted, Illya’s heart shattered. He didn’t think he had any heart left to break.

 

Illya chose to walk back so he could talk to Gaby. He lost his tail on the underground and deliberately hung around out of the way of his route back to the apartment. He needed someone to listen and the little German chop-shop girl was his best option. “I just don’t know what to do,” Illya sighed as soon as they finished curtly exchanging mission details. There wasn’t much more either of them could do now until Victoria set things into motion.

“Well if he lied to you and is draping himself over her then he doesn’t deserve you Illya,” Gaby replied, she knew full well that Illya didn’t handle rejection well especially when he was going to have to arrest the person who rejected him. He really did seem to like this guy and for a time Gaby was so proud of him. It took a lot to break through Illya’s walls after his father deserted them. Illya didn’t trust, he was a lone wolf and UNCLE had started to change that; actually having a boyfriend would have finished the process.

“I really did like him,” Illya sighed, kicking the piles of leaves to try and let out the anger coiled just under the surface. He was getting better at keeping it in, he didn’t beat up as many people anymore and when he did it wasn’t just for little slights. Now Napoleon had set him back.

“Soon we’ll be out of there. It’s not long until we are hitting the road again,” Gaby replied, she always knew exactly what to say to make him feel slightly better. He just needed to hold out and continue to play Victoria. He had no doubt that she would hire him; his fake resume and criminal history were exactly what she was looking for and he had no reason for her to suspect he was a fake. Now it was a waiting game.

 

Illya’s phone buzzed while he was pretending to edit his sketches. It was great that Waverly had actually hired a real architect to provide Illya with sketches and to keep his cover solid. He would never be able to lie his way through being an architect without the sketches they provided for him. It read: ‘Lads are going out tonight, u come with? – Mark’ Illya rolled his eyes but decided to go. They might spill some more information when drunk. It wasn’t like he had any other plans; apart from play chess and wallow in self-pity. He could do that any night.

 

He met Mark and some of the men that he hadn’t bothered to remember their names at a little bar near where they worked. It was a nice classy joint but his companions were consuming far too much alcohol for Illya’s liking. He had one beer but it would not do him any good to be inebriated in front of people he was lying to, even though it did take a lot to get Illya drunk. “Come on Alex, drink, drink,” one of the men laughed as more and more shots were poured.

“I am fine, you don’t need more,” Illya stated even though he knew the night was still young for the spirited Americans.

“Yeah I do Alex, yeah I do,” the man sighed, patting Illya on the shoulder before downing another shot.

“Alexei, Alexei, tell us what you think about Victoria,” Mark slurred from where he was tentatively balanced on a stool by the bar.

“She is very pretty and powerful,” Illya stated, the try and encourage the men to speak.

“I think she is the most beautiful woman ever. I heard that man on her arm is a stripper seduced by her wealth,” another man chimed in and Illya’s temper began to boil at the mention of Napoleon.

“He’s also really pretty. I bet he doesn’t know that she is a crim,criminal,” Mark nodded, wobbling again. Illya really didn’t want to have to take these people home.

“I think he knows,” Illya stated, feigning curiosity.

“Maybe, maybe,” Mark shrugged, dragging Illya out the door. “This place is a dump! Moving out,” Mark exclaimed and the herd moved out onto the street. Illya did hope they had a destination planned and was beginning to regret the poor life choices that lead him to this point.

 

A strip bar. They took him a strip bar and Illya’s anger was visibly bubbling beneath the surface. He was in no way interested and would rather be anywhere but this seat near the front that his ‘friends’ had pushed him into. It was really heard to look somewhere there wasn’t a scantily clad woman so that was why Illya found himself staring in the direction of the toilets and supply closets. Illya had been trained to notice everything around him; but to anyone else the cleaner, sidling round the edge of the room wouldn’t have drawn any attention. But Illya was attentive and needed a distraction. The cleaner carried on walking, wheeling the little trolley thing but Illya couldn’t work out what was wrong. Maybe that was what was wrong. It was so perfect, a perfect disguise. Until he showed his face, like a ghost Napoleon was haunting him. Yet he was certain that the man sneaking around a strip bar dressed as a cleaner was Napoleon Solo. Now Illya was intrigued and glad he came out that night. So Illya managed to slide away on the pretence of getting another drink and followed Napoleon as he walked into a closed booth. There was no way of Illya getting eyes into the little alcove but he could listen, leaning against the wall with his phone out to look busy. This could easily just be Napoleon meeting another mark but Illya had nothing better to do than investigate.

 

“Napoleon,” a low, posh male voice sighed taking Illya by surprise. “Take a seat. I trust you weren’t followed?”

“No one knows I am here, but we must hurry,” Napoleon stated, no charm or con in his voice.

“We’ll take as much time as we need. Your cover should be solid enough for you to leave,” the other man continued. Cover, that implied that Napoleon was working for someone.

“Yes,” Napoleon replied curtly, maybe he wasn’t willingly working for someone. “I think Victoria knows there is a mole. She’s closed up ranks and is putting a lot more effort into recruitment. She won’t let me near any work apart from the recruiting events,” Napoleon explained, definitely working for someone.

“You need to get her to trust you and trust in your abilities. Do I need to remind you what is at stake here?” the man continued.

“Yeah my life. I screw up then either Victoria kills me or I go to jail for fifteen years,” Napoleon snapped. “I get it boss, I get that you rule my life!” he continued shorting before storming out, straight past Illya and out the back door. So Napoleon was a convict, undercover to try and stay out of prison. However if Victoria knew there was a mole, it would not be as easy for Illya to get in and get the information he would need to shut the ring down. Illya’s heart twitched for Napoleon; maybe it wasn’t all a con. There was a chance they really had something before it all fell to pieces. That hurt more than it did before. The hope hurt more than heartbreak did.

 

Illya waited calmly until the man Napoleon was meeting left the booth. Quickly he snapped a photo of the man's profile and forwarded it to one of Waverly's secure lines before deleting the text. There was no tap on his mobile so they could only be tracking the things it sent. Waverly's line was as secure as they come and no one would be getting into there. He should be safe and he needed to know who Napoleon was working for if he was going to either take him out of the game or team up. Illya really hoped it was the latter. He wouldn't be able to take Napoleon out of the game unless it was really necessary. Gaby would call that compassion. Illya called it compromised.

 

CIA, Waverly had identified the man as a lead CIA operative but had got no closer to speaking with them to try and make sure they didn't ruin each other's operations. It would be just their luck if Victoria got away because no one could decide whose jurisdiction this was under. The answer was that it was a grey area. Technically it was UNCLE's job as it was an inter-governmental operation but yet it was on American soil so the CIA had rights to it. Waverly just kept on getting sucked into the governmental ether and was no closer to talking to Napoleon's handler. Illya had to carry on anyway. He had a meeting that night with Victoria about his recruitment and it was too good a chance to postpone on a slight chance. He was going to have to risk it.

 

This time it was only Victoria who waited for him on the deck of the exclusive yacht. Her lack of security was testament to her cockiness but it was more the absence of Napoleon that worried him. Had he been found out or was Victoria just closing ranks? “Alexei, thank you for meeting me on such short notice,” Victoria smiled, offering him a glass of champagne. Illya’s instincts screamed at him to reject the glass to keep his wits about him and to avoid potential poison. Trust, he had to trust that Victoria wouldn’t kill him; that was what Alexei would do.

“It is no bother. I hope this means you have come to your decision,” Illya replied, taking a hesitant sip from the glass. He couldn’t taste anything strange but that didn’t count out a whole range of poisons or sedatives.

“I have, I would like to bring you in and I asked you to come tonight because I have a job for you,” Victoria stated, sitting down and passing Illya a tablet. It was a live feed of an unremarkable man in his apartment; Illya didn’t recognise him so he couldn’t be too high up in the organisation. “I need you to kill him,” Victoria stated, smiling as if she was asking him to deliver a hand basket not commit murder.

“It will be done.” Illya nodded, taking the details and leaving the boat with a quick message to Waverly from another burner phone.

 

The man lived in a relatively high end apartment building with good security. Not good enough security but at least his target tried. All it took to get into the lift hanging up to the unfortunate man’s floor was waiting until dark, dressing as a cleaner and walking in the front door. A quick switch with the security guard’s key card got him through the main doors and hacking the lift panel to give him access. See other brutes that Victoria may have sent would have been stopped but Illya was smarter than them. Waverly had texted back, he searched through the records for the man Illya had been sent to deal with. He was a low level drug dealer, probably just someone that wasn’t pleasing Victoria anymore so was used as a test. Waverly had made the executive decision that Illya should go through with it. It was hard and the Russian knew that Waverly hated making these decisions but they both realised that Illya’s cover was way more important than the life of a low life that would spend the majority of his life in prison anyway. Jacob Lenin was going to have to die.

 

Illya used his new found key card to override the security on Jacob’s door. Victoria’s feed showed that Jacob was definitely in his apartment but Illya couldn’t be certain that the drug dealer didn’t have some arms on his person. Nothing was guaranteed. Slowly he pushed open the door, sliding through before pulling it closed with a soft click. Illya’s hand tightened around the gun as he padded through the apartment towards the main room. Jacob was sat at his desk tapping away on a tablet, completely oblivious to the armed looming giant behind him. “Turn around, slowly,” Illya hissed startling his target but the man complied, raising his hands as he got to his feet. As he turned around Illya, raised the gun so it was levelled at his target’s chest. He could have easily shot the man but he wanted more information; when he worked from the FSB he never asked questions, he wasn’t hired to ask questions. But now UNCLE didn’t condone mindless killing, you were more likely to detain a prisoner instead of killing them outright.

“Please don’t kill me. I’ll return the drugs I swear. I’ll even turn myself in please don’t kill me,” Joseph begged, his hands in the air.

“Tell me why Victoria wants you dead?” Illya stated, he didn’t have time for this whimpering mess of a man.

“I may have stolen from her organisation but I swear I will give it all back. Please just don’t shoot,” Jacob exclaimed again, Illya did shoot.

 

He walked out of the front door of the apartment building pulling out his burner phone to call Waverly. Things were advancing; if Victoria was killing people for just stealing then she was definitely closing ranks around herself. Mafia bosses don’t kill for things like that; by sparing someone’s life you have their loyalty and loyalty is so much better than fear. It is also likely that she will not get those drugs back now whereas if she had spared him then he would have been able to return her belongings. “I’ve killed him, it was just a thief,” Illya stated as he walked. He knew the silence on Waverly’s end meant that his supervisor had made the same connection he had.

“At least you are in. Don’t say you knew he was just a thief. Asking questions is not good for someone of your profession,” Waverly ordered and Illya could hear the concern in his voice. “Gaby is on her way to New York with one of the smuggling crew. She has no idea what they are smuggling and in what quantity but it is on the move. You need to catch them in the changeover. I have brought in the CIA and they agree that they will follow your lead. They don’t know that we know about Napoleon,” Waverly continued.

“I’ll need to lie low, Victoria will still be testing me,” Illya stated as he hung up and threw the phone in the nearest bin. He was going to have to talk to Napoleon; he couldn’t let him go into this blind. It was sportsmanship not compassion.

 

The next day Illya was asked to take the day off work and report to the underground casino he had first met Victoria in. He stepped in the door and saw what must have been thirty men all armed to the teeth stood milling around in the casino. All the tables and bars had been taken away and now it was a barracks. “Alexei!” Victoria called out, and Illya calmingly walked over, hiding the shock under his blank expression. They were moving far too fast; he would have no time to put any agents in place. He had to find a way to get word to Waverly. He would have try and steal someone’s phone to get a message out when they were on the move. There were two things that Illya hated on a mission and they were both happening now. He hated having to rely on other people and he hated surprises. He was trained to deal with all sorts of situations but that didn't mean he had to like it. Illya wanted to be in charge of the situation. “Alexei, if I remember correctly you have experience of interrogation?” Victoria questioned as soon as he arrived at her side.

“I do, who do you need talking?” Illya questioned but Victoria didn't answer. She just motioned for him to follow her into the depths of the warehouse. “We found the spy. I need to know who he works for and what he has told his employers,” Victoria stated unlocking a door into what he assumed used to be a storage room. A limp figure was tied to a chair in the middle of the room with his head drooped forwards. Napoleon, Victoria had discovered his subterfuge.  
“Napoleon,” Illya stated before he could stop himself.  
“Yes, he was clever. I thought they would send someone in as a lacky not to infiltrate my personal life. Solo was good but not good enough,” Victoria stated before leaving Illya to his interrogation.  
“I’ll come back to check on your progress before we leave,” Victoria stated with a wink as she strutted out of the door.  
  
Illya cursed as soon as the door was closed. He heard Victoria say they were heading out in ten minutes, which meant he actually needed to torture Napoleon until they were gone. “Hey, wake up,” Illya hissed shaking Napoleon’s shoulders. He came to with a cry. “It’s me,” Illya stated as Napoleon struggled in his bonds and tried to take in his surroundings. Despite his struggling it was clear Napoleon was injured; he was favouring his left side and there was intensive bruising marring the left side of his forehead with a still bleeding cut across his cheek bone. Someone had worked him over before Victoria had called Illya in. Napoleon was tougher than he looked if mafia interrogators couldn’t get anything out of him. That earnt the American spy some credit in Illya’s books. However whenever he looked at that bleeding face he couldn’t help but see the happy go lucky barista he asked out on a date only a few weeks ago. Illya had no idea what to believe apart from the fact Napoleon wasn’t the bad guy in all of this; despite the lies and the subterfuge, Napoleon was fighting the good fight and Illya was forced to hurt him.

“I know you’re a spy. FSB?” Napoleon choked out hoarsely as Illya squatted down in front of him.

“UNCLE, we are above national intelligence agencies,” Illya stated, there were no cameras in the room. It was just a storage room Victoria had converted for the purpose of Napoleon’s imprisonment. “I am going to have to torture you. At least until they leave. I have a SWAT team waiting, do you know where the meet is going down?” Illya asked and when Napoleon shook his head, Illya took the chance the distraction offered to slam his knife into Napoleon’s thigh. The scream could have shattered glass and that was what Illya needed. He could imagine Victoria smiling at the sound of Illya doing his job. Slowly Napoleon’s voice faded away and he gritted his teeth against the pain.

“I only know, they are not going to pay for the diamonds. It is going to be a shootout,” Napoleon stated and Illya stood up with a nod. “I placed a tracker on one of the foot soldiers when they arrested me,” Napoleon’s energy was fading rapidly and colour was draining from his face. Illya kept the blade in Napoleon’s leg. It would stop him bleeding out.

 

This tense situation continued for five or so minutes. Illya hated himself for having to hurt Napoleon and so he tried to do as little damage as possible but for it to be visible. He already had a lie to tell Victoria but he also had to convince her that Napoleon knew more and so shouldn’t be killed instantly. The door shook with the knock signalling time was up. Illya nodded to a gasping Napoleon, unsure if the American had any idea what was going on anymore. He opened it just enough for Victoria to see Napoleon’s limp and shaking form. “What has he told you?” she asked once the door was closed again.

“He has told his organisation your name and that there is a shipment coming in but he doesn’t know where, when or of what. There is no way for them to know where we are going,” Illya stated. He clasped his hands behind his back to mask the tremors that accompanied his anger. Victoria smiled in a very distrustful manner.

“Oh you aren’t coming with us. You need to stay here and guard the prisoner. We can’t have him following us,” Victoria stated with a shrug before strutting off round the corner.

 

Illya punched a wall; he wasn’t proud of it and his hand hurt now but he did punch a wall. He had done so much to get in with Victoria and her crew now he was being benched. They would have to rely on Napoleon’s tracker if that tracker even got out of the building. They would probably find the tracker and kill Napoleon over it, knowing their luck. “I’m guessing it didn’t go well,” Napoleon croaked, the bruising around his neck developing rapidly.

“I’m stuck here with no idea where they are going,” Illya snarled, as his radio showed the group was leaving. He quickly untied Napoleon, the cuffs were cutting off his circulation. Victoria probably thought Napoleon would be able to slip out of them otherwise.

“Do you have a phone?” Napoleon asked, massaging his wrists. Illya nodded it passing over and Napoleon dialled a number that he was clearly used to dialling.

“Marty, hey it’s Solo,” Napoleon stated, pacing nervously. “I need you to follow my tracker. I put it on one of Victoria’s men. Yes I know Carter will have my head when he realises I cut my tracker but honestly I don’t care!” Napoleon shouted and Illya frowned. Napoleon didn’t just have a tracker on his person; he had a tracker chip that Napoleon must have somehow cut out of his body once he knew his cover was blown. That meant the CIA knew their agent was compromised and they didn’t care. Illya’s hatred for Napoleon was diminishing day by day but there was no time to think about that. “You’re the best Marty.”

 

They had a location but it wasn’t good. The tracker was in the ocean. Illya had passed the information on to Waverly but they must have found it and disposed of it. There was no way of knowing where it could have been thrown in. Now Napoleon and Illya were stood in Waverly’s mobile base staring at each other. “So, international spy,” Napoleon murmured breaking the silence at last.

“Yes, my cover was fine until you showed your face,” Illya snapped, pretending he didn’t see the hurt in Napoleon’s features. The American had batted off most of the medical personnel that tried to treat him but they had managed to patch up the worst of his injuries and nearly every inch of his body was covered in some form of bandage or bruise. It was a miracle he was still upright let alone trying to coordinate a military mission. Not that Illya cared; it was good to have the info that the CIA had.

“Oh really, I didn’t see you getting any information and she would have benched you even if I wasn’t there. All the details you got were from me and I nearly had them, better than anything you had,” Napoleon retorted before slowly striding away to get some fresh air. Illya knew he was being unreasonable but so was Napoleon. They had hurt each other but spies didn’t hurt; they didn’t form emotional attachments for this exact reason.

 

“We have news. Gaby managed to wrangle the location out of her contact. It is about five minutes drive away but it is going down now. And it will be a blood bath, the South Americans are planning on trying to negotiate for more money,” Waverly explained and everyone on the base knew that meant a shootout was on the horizon. “Everyone suit up and get moving. Solo, you’ll stay here with me and co-ordinate the CIA resources,” Waverly continued, a wave of his hand silencing Napoleon’s protests. Everyone there knew that Napoleon would die if he was sent into the field, he could barely stand let alone fight. Illya tested out the brace on his broken hand as he suited up; he had to be fit enough to fight. He would not be side-lined for the second time in one day. The team moved out as quickly as they could and Illya urged the drivers to go faster. There was no time for speed limits. They parked a block away from the warehouse near the docks where the meet was going down. It was all quiet at the moment but you would be an idiot to bet on it staying that way. “Everyone you know your places. Make a perimeter and close in slowly and quietly,” Illya order over the communication line as they all exited the vans. Illya took the elite team and headed straight for the warehouse itself. Illya used his tech to unlock the door and slid inside, just as the gunfight commenced.

 

“All agents move in, hostiles are armed and dangerous,” Illya shouted as he breached the main loading bay. Victoria’s men were winning and the woman herself was putting up a good fight. Illya smirked at the brief flitter of surprise on Victoria’s face before it turned to appreciation. Illya liked an enemy that understood when they had been played. She ordered her guards to deal with the Russian giant before darting back into the depths of the warehouse. Illya huffed and drew out his knife. Swinging into hand to hand combat he was oblivious to everything around him, all he knew was the rage. Victoria was not getting away with the destruction she had rained down. They were going to end it. Soon both the men she had sent after him were on the floor with injuries to non-vital organs and Illya jogged after Victoria. Only to find her on the floor clutching her shoulder as blood oozed between her fingertips with a man looming over her, gun levelled at her head. “Napoleon,” Illya frowned, the red haze of fury diminishing as he took in the American. It was clear he was barely conscious and it was a force of will that he was standing up let alone apprehended their criminal.

“She ruined my life, if I kill her then they will let me go. I need to be free,” Napoleon shouted, his hands trembling.

“You don’t have to kill her Solo. She will rot in prison for what she has done and then you will be free,” Illya stated, he hated having to be the rational one and he would love to see Victoria dead but that wasn’t justice. Waverly and Gaby had taught him that. Justice was through the law.

“The CIA won’t let me go if she is alive,” Napoleon stated but yet he still didn’t pull the trigger.

“I promise they will on my life Napoleon I swear to you,” Illya forced a soft smile.

“Even if they do then I am a convict. No one will hire a convict veteran with no qualifications. She ruined everything!” Napoleon shouted, yet he still couldn’t fire.

“This isn’t the Napoleon I now. The flirty barista happy with his life even though it wasn’t exciting and grand. You are a survivor Napoleon. So do it, survive!” Illya shouted. And that was the breaking point. Napoleon just crumpled and Illya rushed forwards, cuffing Victoria and lifting Napoleon to his feet. His team would make sure the crime queen was locked up safe and sound. He had to get Napoleon out of here before he did himself some real harm. Now the fear for his future had faded, Napoleon was getting weaker and weaker by the moment.

 

“What do you mean you want Solo?” Agent Conners exclaimed, stepping towards Waverly to try and assert dominance. Waverly stood strong with his agents and his face passive. They were a strange sight, the quite small posh English man with a Russian giant on one side and a slight female German mechanic on the other. Illya’s hands clenched as the American CIA agent scoffed at their proposal. “He is my asset, why would I want to hand him over to you bunch of misfits?” Conners laughed and Illya’s gaze hardened as his fists clenched. They were misfits, you had to give the abrasive CIA agent that, but they were no less than any other agent. UNCLE got the job done when no other agency would go anywhere near the case. They were the best there was.

“Because this bunch of misfits out ranks you agent. We can go over your head for you to hand over your asset or you can agree before we drag your reputation through the mud. If we chose to tell your superior about your miss management of the situation, telling your operative to kill the target at the risk of his own life, almost getting him killed twice in one mission with no back up,” Waverly began to list all the ways Conners had risked his asset that if they took it higher, Napoleon would be taken out of his hands within seconds and he would probably be demoted. Conners paled looking between Gaby’s smug smile, Waverly raised eyebrow and Illya’s killing glower. He knew he had lost.

“Okay take him. He’s served his purpose, he was only there to be a pretty face. Damn con-man,” Conner’s cursed spinning around before Illya could punch his face in. Waverly stopped Illya with a quick squeeze of the wrist. They had won.

 

Napoleon had sunk down into the offered chair when Waverly told him the news. All the colour had drained from his face and it seemed like his expression was fixed in one of mild shock. “So I have the same offer, but working for your organisation instead of the CIA?” Napoleon stated once he had composed himself behind that stoic con artist mask again, even though Illya could tell he was still rattled.

“Exactly, you will be expected to work cases with Gaby and Illya and if there is overwhelming success we may be able to cut your service time shorter than the 10 years and offer you a job afterwards as well. You will live in London and be able to carry on your normal life when not on missions, of course without any illegal activities,” Waverly explained, his voice more jovial then it had been when talking to Agent Conners earlier. It had appalled all three of them that Napoleon was sent to wait in prison before being sent off to his next mission and they would be rectifying that as soon as he accepted their offer. There was no doubt in Illya’s mind that Napoleon would accept their offer. It did mean that Illya would have to learn how to hide his emotions arounud Napoleon; the American was the only person Illya knew that could read him so easily and the only one that Illya had ever found himself having feelings for. Illya was not comfortable but yet he couldn’t leave the happy smart Napoleon Solo he knew to the CIA wolves. That didn’t even register as an option in Illya’s one track mind.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Napoleon stated with a deep sigh, getting to his feet. “When do we start?”

 

Illya, Napoleon and Gaby were often described as the perfect team by people they worked with and Illya was liking it. Gaby was their tech guru and good at sneaking into places unnoticed. Napoleon was all for the more brazen way of getting into a location; he was always on some divorced woman’s arm or pretending to be an up and coming actor or using his thievery skills to get into a gang; as well as his all-encompassing knowledge of alarms, safes and security systems that was a little bit scary at times. Illya was the brute force of the group and was often the one to close it out and actually make the arrest. It was as if Waverly had planned it; Illya didn’t put it past him to have actually conspired Napoleon’s arrest, Napoleon being put on the same case as Illya, Illya’s feelings for Napoleon, and Napoleon’s success as an agent all so he could put this team together.

 

Napoleon had only brought up their liaison once and Illya had explained that he didn’t want to be with anyone especially not someone he was working with. It broke his heart but he had to have a heart of steel; emotions weakened you and he already knew he would charge head first into danger if either Gaby or Napoleon required it off him. They were all in a good place, Illya didn't want to ruin that with feelings but that didn't stop Gaby bring up Illya and Napoleon’s fling at every available opportunity. “Come on peril,” Gaby whined, they had all started using Napoleon’s irritating nickname for him and it was slowly driving him crazy.

“Not interested,” Illya stated, trying to pack around the pouting German laid on his bed.

“We still have one night here, in Paris, the city of love, and Napoleon wants to go out for drinks. You have not joined us whenever he asks and we all know why!” Gaby exclaimed, knocking his shirt off the bed for emphasis.

“Because I like to be rested before a mission,” Illya lied with gritted teeth.

“Oh there is some colourful language I could use to describe the level of ridiculousness of that lie Illya Kuryakin,” Gaby laughed.

“It is not a lie,” Illya replied, sorely tempted to push Gaby off the bed as he picked up his shirt.

“I gave you your chance, Illya. You will sort this out with Napoleon if it is the last thing I do.

 

Illya should have heeded Gaby’s slightly sinister warning. “She’s going to leave us to suffer isn’t she?” Napoleon hissed as they both hid inside the wardrobe of their target’s room.

“Yes,” Illya replied, watching through a hole in the wood. They had been charged with checking the room of a young computer hacker. She was supposed to lead them to her boss, so killing or even incapacitating was out of the question. She had arrived home early and so Napoleon and Illya were stuck in her wardrobe until she left or Gaby caused a distraction. Gaby was not going to cause a distraction. She was operating under the assumption that if Illya and Napoleon were forced to spend time together then they would talk out their issues and ride away into the sunset.

“I never lied to you about my feelings,” Napoleon stated after ten minutes of tense silence between the pair. The girl was just sat on her bed with her headphones in and laptop on her knee; they could talk quietly and she wouldn’t hear them but she was not leaving any time soon. Illya remained silent, maybe if Napoleon didn’t get a response he might shut up.

“I mean I have always lied to people it’s like second nature but I was really happy with you and in the coffee shop,” the American continued, Illya clenched his fists tight to try and stop the shaking.

“Be quiet,” he hissed but Napoleon was on a roll now.

“No, we need to talk about this. If we are going to work as a team then we need to clear the air. We both work better alone but we are a team now. You brought me in,” Napoleon exclaimed. Illya clamped a hand down over his partner’s mouth.  

“Now you shut up. There is no room for love in this life and you know it cowboy. No matter how much we want to do this we cannot make it work,” Illya hissed, his heart rate increasing as Napoleon just started at him. Illya slowly removed his hand. A smile twitched at Napoleon’s lips.

“Oh peril. We are the best spies this world has ever seen. We can do whatever we want,” Napoleon sighed before leaning in and tenderly catching Illya’s lips with his own. They sat there, the world disappeared around them as they kissed.

“Guys, she’s gone. You can come out now!”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for 'The Truth within the Lies'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6430243) by [stormbrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormbrite/pseuds/stormbrite)




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